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Authors: L. E. Modesitt
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the failure of the ruler of Jerans to abate such reprehensible acts…
… all in Reduce are hereby notified that any and all trade and commerce with any vessel bearing a Jeranyi flag or crewed by Jeranyi or owned by Jeranyi is hereby forbidden. Purchase of goods from Jerans is also prohibited, and any merchant or factor holding such goods must dispose of them within an eightday of the date of this notice—or turn them over to the Council for partial compensation. Any trader or merchant from Jerans is to leave Reduce within an eightday of the date of this notice. All who fail to do so may have all goods and coins confiscated, at the determination of a justicer appointed by the Council…
After a moment, he looked toward Kian. “What good will this do? Why don’t they just go out and destroy the pirates?”
“The oceans are vast, and Reduce has but few ships compared to the size of those oceans…” began Kian.
“—and the ships that can catch and destroy the pirates belong to the engineers in Nylan, and they don’t want to spend their time chasing pirates?”
Kian shook his head. “It’s not that simple. They’ve caught and sunk a score of pirate vessels, or so I’ve heard, but some of the pirates fly different flags in every port they enter and change the names on their ships. The important part is the expulsion of the traders. Factors, merchants, and traders account for far more coins than do the pirates, especially those who work with the pirates and sell their plunder.”
“The Council wants the traders to put pressure on the Duke of Jerans to stop the piracy,” Rahl suggested.
“He’s an autarch, I think. Or maybe a consul who theoretically pledges allegiance to Sarronnyn. But they have that in mind. What will happen is that our factors and traders will trade more with those they know and trust and less with those they don’t. They won’t like it, but the magisters will come back and ask them, and if they lie, they’ll be exiled as well.”
“What if they’re honestly mistaken?”
“Then they’ll be warned and watched more closely.”
Rahl wondered what that would do to Fahla and her family.
“Now… I’ll make the first one, and you can use that as a model,” Kian began.
Rahl watched and waited, then began on a third copy while Kian started a second one.
Neither spoke much as the afternoon waned.
When Rahl finished his last copy, the sun was low in the sky, low but still not close to twilight. Kian waited for the posterboards to dry because the heavier stock absorbed more ink.
“Ten fair copies in an afternoon, with the Council embellishments! A good day’s work. A good day’s work,” repeated Kian, before turning to Rahl. ”You can start cleaning up. But check the new batch of ink first.“
“Yes, ser.” Rahl stretched and then headed for the door.
Kian’s request to check the ink was as close to a compliment as Rahl was likely to get, because it meant Kian had no complaints about Rahl’s latest work. But then, reflected Rahl, his hand was as good as his father’s. Also, because he could feel what was happening, his inks usually turned out better than his father’s, not that he was going to say that. He just wished at times his father would recognize it.
Outside in the mild air that had followed the storm earlier in the eightday, Rahl couldn’t help but think about what Magister Puvort had said. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a trap. Yet, at some point, Puvort might mention it to Rahl’s parents. He would need to tell them, but at the right time.
Rahl used his order-sense to help the melding and mixing of the oak galls, the bit of added iron-brimstone, and the tree gum. When he’d been younger, he’d wondered why his parents didn’t see when some things didn’t go together. They’d just looked at him blankly, and, after a very short time, he had stopped asking.
He closed the shed door carefully and went back to the pump and
… all in Reduce are hereby notified that any and all trade and commerce with any vessel bearing a Jeranyi flag or crewed by Jeranyi or owned by Jeranyi is hereby forbidden. Purchase of goods from Jerans is also prohibited, and any merchant or factor holding such goods must dispose of them within an eightday of the date of this notice—or turn them over to the Council for partial compensation. Any trader or merchant from Jerans is to leave Reduce within an eightday of the date of this notice. All who fail to do so may have all goods and coins confiscated, at the determination of a justicer appointed by the Council…
After a moment, he looked toward Kian. “What good will this do? Why don’t they just go out and destroy the pirates?”
“The oceans are vast, and Reduce has but few ships compared to the size of those oceans…” began Kian.
“—and the ships that can catch and destroy the pirates belong to the engineers in Nylan, and they don’t want to spend their time chasing pirates?”
Kian shook his head. “It’s not that simple. They’ve caught and sunk a score of pirate vessels, or so I’ve heard, but some of the pirates fly different flags in every port they enter and change the names on their ships. The important part is the expulsion of the traders. Factors, merchants, and traders account for far more coins than do the pirates, especially those who work with the pirates and sell their plunder.”
“The Council wants the traders to put pressure on the Duke of Jerans to stop the piracy,” Rahl suggested.
“He’s an autarch, I think. Or maybe a consul who theoretically pledges allegiance to Sarronnyn. But they have that in mind. What will happen is that our factors and traders will trade more with those they know and trust and less with those they don’t. They won’t like it, but the magisters will come back and ask them, and if they lie, they’ll be exiled as well.”
“What if they’re honestly mistaken?”
“Then they’ll be warned and watched more closely.”
Rahl wondered what that would do to Fahla and her family.
“Now… I’ll make the first one, and you can use that as a model,” Kian began.
Rahl watched and waited, then began on a third copy while Kian started a second one.
Neither spoke much as the afternoon waned.
When Rahl finished his last copy, the sun was low in the sky, low but still not close to twilight. Kian waited for the posterboards to dry because the heavier stock absorbed more ink.
“Ten fair copies in an afternoon, with the Council embellishments! A good day’s work. A good day’s work,” repeated Kian, before turning to Rahl. ”You can start cleaning up. But check the new batch of ink first.“
“Yes, ser.” Rahl stretched and then headed for the door.
Kian’s request to check the ink was as close to a compliment as Rahl was likely to get, because it meant Kian had no complaints about Rahl’s latest work. But then, reflected Rahl, his hand was as good as his father’s. Also, because he could feel what was happening, his inks usually turned out better than his father’s, not that he was going to say that. He just wished at times his father would recognize it.
Outside in the mild air that had followed the storm earlier in the eightday, Rahl couldn’t help but think about what Magister Puvort had said. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like a trap. Yet, at some point, Puvort might mention it to Rahl’s parents. He would need to tell them, but at the right time.
Rahl used his order-sense to help the melding and mixing of the oak galls, the bit of added iron-brimstone, and the tree gum. When he’d been younger, he’d wondered why his parents didn’t see when some things didn’t go together. They’d just looked at him blankly, and, after a very short time, he had stopped asking.
He closed the shed door carefully and went back to the pump and
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